Born to be Bad. Crystal Green

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СКАЧАТЬ continued. “Even if I’ve only worked with you a couple of months, I know we’re both more than the Weekly Gossip allows us to be, Nancy. This is our big shot, and you can depend on me to get it right.”

      “You’re not brassy enough for this.”

      Gemma gulped, hearing the judgment of her first real editor on the day she’d gotten fired. You’ve got no guts, Duncan.

      With more humility, she said, “You should’ve seen me this afternoon. You would’ve been proud. I gave Theroux as good as I got from him.”

      “Oh, Gemma.” Nancy leaned over her desk, more a budding friend than an editor. “Right now, I just want to tell you to go back home and forget about this. We’re talking about the underworld, here. It’s not the Lalaurie haunted house or a story about UFOs. This is real.”

      Gemma pounded on the arms of her chair. “So is my need to investigate this man.”

      She pressed her lips together, regretting the outburst.

      Yes, she was desperate. Among other things, she hated the way her family defined her career. Years ago, when she’d been an eager cub reporter at the Orange County Register, they’d bragged about her in Christmas newsletters. Now, they told their friends that she was “in between jobs.” And that was true enough, because she didn’t intend to write below her ability forever.

      “Hey.” Nancy reached out, laid a hand on Gemma’s. “You all right?”

      Actually, no. She hadn’t been since she’d gotten canned at the Register. What a blow—being scooped on a pivotal story about a sleazy politician because she’d been too mousy to pursue every angle.

      “I’m fine,” Gemma said, forcing a grin, “if you give me a chance with this. I won’t let you down.”

      Nancy sat back and expelled a huge breath. Behind her on the white wall, Weekly Gossip covers screamed headlines: “Miracle Baby Saves Whale!” and “Wronged Wife Takes Gory Revenge on Hubby!”

      Tilting her head to an almost beggarly angle, Gemma burned with hope. Please say yes.

      The editor crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll give you two weeks to turn up something solid and marketable on Theroux. Something explosive we don’t already know about him. And if it looks good…”

      Gemma’s pulse started racing.

      “Plus,” Nancy added, “you keep your day job here, writing about your ‘freaks and geeks.’”

      At this point, Gemma would’ve agreed to do a naked Irish jig on a float during Mardi Gras. “Will do!”

      When she stood, latent doubt twisted through her conscience. She was about to go undercover to dig up some dirt on an unsuspecting man. A man who’d touched her with arrogant heat, and burned her body from the inside out this afternoon. There would be no straightforward questions, no honesty with him.

      Once again, his hungry gaze consumed her, making her blood sing.

      Did she really have the guts to layer lie upon lie to him? To disrupt a man’s life by offering it bare for the world to see? Was she really that ruthless?

      Sure. If rumor was correct, this bad boy deserved his comeuppance. Reporters lived to see justice dealt to men like him. Right?

      Right.

      Gemma opened Nancy’s door, newly invigorated. “Needless to say, I’m working nights now. I can’t come over for a movie and daiquiris tomorrow.”

      “I guess I’ll have to keep Russell Crowe all to myself, then.” Nancy waved Gemma out. “Go. You’ve got a story due. And, Gemma? As your friend, I’m telling you to be careful.”

      “I’ve got it under control, chica. Chill.”

      Then, with a tiny wave, she left, heading straight for her desk.

      She’d actually gotten the green light for this story! Sort of. More like a yellow light, but she was still ready to go.

      Even if she ended up ruining Theroux’s life.

      Somewhat torn, she arrived at her workstation to find it cluttered with more than notes for her most recent project.

      Every office has a pain in the ass, and Waller Smith was the designated hemorrhoid for the Weekly Gossip. A snore ripped out of him while he slumped in Gemma’s padded chair, his ash-blond hair ruffled and in sore need of a cut, his scuffed Bruno Magli knockoffs propped near her keyboard, his gumbo-stained button-down and crumpled tie as washed out as the green of his bloodshot eyes—when they were open. When she’d first met him, her first impression had been of a sun-cooked Robert Redford. But Gemma now knew better.

      She managed to ignore him while simultaneously guiding his feet off her desk.

      The shift of position awakened him. He blinked at her, focusing. “Duncan.” Then he stretched, a canary-eating grin on his face. “Kissing up to our chief again?”

      “Anything to get your panties in a wad, Smith. I believe you’re in my chair?”

      Waller acted surprised to be sitting there. “Well, pardon my butt.”

      Yawning to a stand, he offered her the seat with a grand gesture. Then, with deadline purpose, she pretended to get to work, but Waller wasn’t leaving.

      “What can I do for you?” she finally asked, giving him a smile that one usually reserves for a salesman who rings the doorbell during dinner.

      “Reaching a little high for your talents, aren’t you?”

      The comment felt like a sucker punch. “Aren’t you the last person to be judging talent? Since you don’t have any yourself, I mean?”

      An indefinable emotion passed over Smith’s face, and Gemma wanted to take her smart-ass comment back. Actually, that really wasn’t true. He was exasperating, and deserved a return helping of everything he dished out.

      Not that Smith probably cared about what she’d said to him. He had a way of not giving a tinker’s damn about anything.

      “Duncan, congratulations. You’re growing a spine. Now all you need to be a decent reporter is the ability to read lips, which I was doing a few minutes ago. Ah, the miracle of office windows.”

      “You…?” Gemma stopped herself, remembering some sort of happy-hour rumor about Smith having a deaf sister.

      With the smug laziness of a sunning gator, he leaned against another reporter’s empty desk. “It’s easy to distinguish the name ‘Theroux’ on a woman’s lips. So you overheard him and a crony arguing today?”

      “You tell me.”

      “Yes, you did. And you think, sweet little thing, that you’ll be the one pen-slinging warrior who’ll hit his heel and bring him down.” He shook his shaggy head. “Another well-meaning crusader bites the dust.”

      “Don’t you have work to do?”

      “Sure, СКАЧАТЬ